


Avoidance Theory

by scienceblues



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Holidays, K/S Advent Calendar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scienceblues/pseuds/scienceblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock expects a holiday shore leave spent alone with Jim, but Jim's unsure about so much alone time. He invites McCoy along, leaving the three of them scrambling to salvage a halfway-decent holiday out of the mess. Featuring insecure!Jim, a bit of h/c, and a whole load of misunderstandings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avoidance Theory

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 ksadvent calendar over at lj. My best description of this is "holiday melodrama," and is appropriately ridiculous.

The door chimes halfway through beta shift; unusually late for the captain. However, considering all the mundane tasks that must be completed before the crew disembarks, it’s impressive that Jim has managed to finish his tasks this early in the evening. “Come,” Spock calls out, placing yet another meticulously folded sweater into his suitcase. The luggage is larger than he would prefer, but with his desert physiology and his intended destination, he has to pack multiple bulky layers for each day, making a sizable suitcase a necessity.  
  
Jim slips through the door and flops down next to the suitcase, lying sideways on the bed and expelling a huge breath. “Hey,” he greets, smiling fondly up at Spock.  
  
While Spock doesn’t return the smile, he does relax the severe mask he adopted once he realized he may not have enough space for the thick material of all the winter clothes he owns. “Hello, Jim,” he replies, turning to the chest of drawers and digging out his few pairs of thermal underwear. With the dwindling amount of space in his bag, he tries to cram them into the already-overfilled pocket spanning the top lid of the suitcase but can’t get the zip closed the whole way.  
  
“Here, just put them in my bag. I don’t have to fit as much in as you do.”  
  
Spock nods gratefully and fishes the underwear out, replacing it in the suitcase tucked haphazardly in the back of the closet. He notices that they are the first pieces of clothing in the bag and turns to raise an eyebrow at Jim, who shrugs sheepishly from his upside-down vantage point on the bed. “I really _don’t_ have to pack as much, you know,” he points out in a reasonable tone of voice.  
  
Suppressing the urge to shake his head, Spock returns to the bed and moves his luggage to the floor to continue his packing later. “How is it that you consistently delay tasks until the last possible moment and never even think of not finishing on time?” he muses, dragging two of his fingers from the tip of Jim’s index down to his wrist.  
  
Jim makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat, encouraging Spock to repeat the circuit once more before he sits down next to Jim. “Too many years of not caring. And I get everything done, don’t I?”  
  
“Somehow, yes. Though I would think that preparing for a recreational period such as shore leave would provide incentive to pack earlier so that we may leave earlier if possible.” Even though Spock has never had cause to participate in previous leaves in the way they are meant, he plans to experiment with abandoning his work for the entire leave period, and is greatly anticipating the opportunity. Jim has been remarkably tolerant of his tendency to hover over minor ship duties or ongoing experiments, as he is of most things Spock does, but Spock is eager to spend the holiday period focused solely on whatever activities Jim has planned. Ordinarily, Spock might feel some discomfort at experiencing an entirely alien holiday, but since Jim holds it in such high regard, he will undoubtedly be able to make it a positive experience for them both.  
  
“Well, it hasn’t been too long since our last leave, so I’m not exactly chomping at the bit,” Jim says. A vaguely uneasy look passes across his face as he squirms around to rest his head on Spock’s thigh. Unaware of the cause, Spock attributes it to the stress of a temporary spacedock and combs his fingers through Jim’s hair, enjoying both the sight of Jim’s eyes closing in relief and the feeling of the short strands scraping gently against his hands. Spock is not sure if Jim’s scalp is more sensitive than his own hands, but it seems possible by the response his action produces.  
  
“Okay, so it’ll be nice to not deal with rogue Orions for a month, you caught me,” Jim moans pathetically, tangling his fingers with those on Spock’s free hand. Through the minimal connection, Spock can feel the faint buzz of contentment that typically surrounds Jim in either of their quarters, magnified by Spock’s presence. “Guess you’ll have your reports from the lab for pleasure reading, though, right?”  
  
“I believe I will simply receive a comprehensive report from all sections once we reboard. Your attempts to persuade me to leave work with the ship have finally been successful,” Spock says, voice light. Leaving work alone for a week is very different from ignoring all but emergencies for an entire month, but he wishes to take advantage of the time with Jim. They have not seen each other enough outside of duty recently, between an influx of system failures and a spike of Orion slavers attacking Federation planets, and Spock looks forward to the end of the constant stress that shore leave will bring.  
  
There is a long pause after he speaks – long enough that Spock briefly wonders if Jim has fallen into one of the short naps he takes when possible. Finally, Jim says, “Oh, that’s good, Spock,” in a voice so stilted that the angle of his neck for maintaining his position on Spock’s leg must be stressing his vocal cords.  
  
With one last pass of his hand over Jim’s hair, Spock carefully extricates himself from his seat on the bed and packs his suitcase into the closet next to its twin. He hears Jim stand and admit, “I’m not really feeling up to sparring tonight. Want to go down to the arboretum? I hear Sulu’s got this wicked awesome hybrid plant that hocks a loogie at people if it gets watered too much.”  
  
Fascinating. Apparently there are some benefits to be had from listening to ship’s gossip, though Jim likely heard it directly from Sulu. “I am very interested in seeing this plant, if it exists,” Spock answers, grabbing his tricorder out of the desk drawer as he passes it. He doesn’t doubt Lieutenant Sulu’s capability to produce such a plant, if it is possible from current specimens kept onboard, but he does question the veracity of what was likely said as a good-natured boast.  
  
Jim scoffs loudly and nudges the tricorder. “You bet it exists. You’re just saying that because you didn’t see Chekov covered in plant spit after he got too close to Sulu during a feeding.”  
  
“I am certain that ‘plant spit’ is indeed a revolutionary technical term for such secretions. Truly, Captain, your intelligence is a constant source of inspiration.”  
  
“Hey, your man-purse can call it whatever it wants, but since it comes out of a mouth-looking thing, plant spit is a good enough term,” Jim argues, indicating the size of the mouth with his hands. “And just so you know, I’m not standing in front of you if it gets annoyed from the tricorder beeping at it.”  
  
Spock goes along as Jim tugs on his arm to move him in the direction of the door, clearly impatient to reach their destination and prove that he’s right. “I am not certain if I can continue to serve under a captain who actively avoids protecting his crew,” he says dryly, purposefully injecting some doubt into his voice.  
  
Jim walks out the door laughing, drawing the attention of a hall full of crewmembers, and doesn’t seem to care.  
  
* * * * *  
  
“Come on, Bones, I know you hate mornings, but do you have to look like someone threw your dog out the airlock? It’s bad for morale.”  
  
McCoy sends Jim a bleary-eyed glare over the brim of his coffee cup and sets it down next to his half-full plate, which carries far more healthy items than Jim’s overloaded one. “You’re just too goddamn cheery in the morning. And anyway, Jocelyn sent me a comm last night, so you’re not far off with the airlock.”  
  
Once he hears that, Jim’s expression twists sympathetically, erasing his initial good humor. “Not good news, I’m guessing?”  
  
“Her husband’s parents want them to come visit them in Maine so they can _get to know the new family members better_ , apparently. Never mind that Jocelyn’s been married to Treadwell for three years now and they visit every summer,” McCoy grumbles. “So much for getting to spend time with Joanna for the first time I’m on Earth in oh, two years or so. No big deal.”  
  
“That’s pretty awful of them,” Jim agrees, starting in on his plate of eggs. “So she’s not letting you see Joanna at all?”  
  
“Not even once.”  
  
“How about joining me and Spock, then? My grandparents are taking a cruise to Alpha Centauri for the holidays, so they invited us to stay at their cabin while they’re gone. You could come with us.”  
  
McCoy lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, like I want to join you two lovebirds on a vacation. I’ll pass, thanks.”  
  
Jim honestly looks a little panicked at his flat-out refusal, which is baffling in so many ways. McCoy can hardly turn a corner on the ship without running into the two of them standing pressed against each other with no awareness of doing so, completely obliterating any show of personal space in an attempt to fix whatever’s wrong with the ship at the moment. It’s never anything indecent when they’re out in public, and yeah, sometimes the little things are sweet even to someone as bitter as McCoy, but Jim and Spock just _work_ in a way that is baffling in its imperviousness. With the ever-present stress that comes from occupying the two highest ranks on the ship, it’s a wonder how they do it, and Jim should be jumping at the opportunity to steal Spock away for a few weeks where they don’t have to schedule their time around duty shifts and emergencies.  
  
“What’re you up to this time, kid?” McCoy finally asks suspiciously. Jim shouldn’t be looking so anxious, not with a lengthy shore leave just a day away.  
  
“Listen, it’s not that I’m not looking forward to spending time together, it’s just – on the ship we have a million other things to look after, so we never get tired of each other. If you don’t come with us, we’ll be all alone, and I am _not_ interesting enough to keep a Vulcan entertained for a month! Especially when he has no personal investment in any kind of holiday and I’m not entirely sure he won’t think I’m insane for _shaping snow into figures that bear no resemblance to any humanoid_ or something.”  
  
The unexpected rush of words leaves McCoy gaping for several seconds as his coffee cup dangles precariously from his suddenly slack fingers. Because, seriously? He always knew Jim was dense in the emotional component of relationships, same way he was, but this is a whole new level of stupid. Like the kid can’t see how Spock nearly falls over himself in a subtle kind of way whenever Jim enters the room, bearing a confident grin or a commanding attitude depending on the situation. “Let me get this straight. This is your first holiday season together with your boyfriend, not to mention your first leave that lasts more than a week, and you want me to barge in and spend the whole month with the two of you? Did it ever occur to you that he’s going to want to know why I’m in the shuttle with you?”  
  
“I’ll let him know beforehand,” Jim says confidently, seeming to think this plan’s going to go off without a hitch. “Don’t worry, Bones, he secretly likes you.”  
  
“I know that,” McCoy replies with a roll of his eyes. He stabs at a slice of fruit irritably. “He just deserves a say in this, that’s all. If you really want me to come along, that’s nice of you, but Spock should be okay with me intruding on your vacation.”  
  
Jim shrugs, seemingly at ease with the situation now that he thinks he can get McCoy as a second source of entertainment during leave. “He’ll be fine with it, trust me. We’re staying in the guest bedroom downstairs and you can have the one upstairs, so we can all have some privacy if we need it. And you’re gonna love Montana, Bones. All the wide-open spaces your little Southern heart needs.”  
  
“I prefer my wide-open spaces to not be snow-covered, thanks,” McCoy mumbles, still feeling a bit apprehensive about how Spock will take it. If he doesn’t want a bitter old doctor along for the holiday, well, McCoy can find a place to stay in San Francisco for shore leave. Even if Starfleet provides shitty personnel housing. Either way, he’ll make it as pleasant a holiday it can be without a visit from his little girl.  
  
* * * * *  
  
For the first half of beta shift on the day they arrive at Spacedock, the transporter room swarms with crewmembers waiting their turn to disembark, periodically emptying of all but a few and then refilling several minutes later as another department subsection releases active crew from their duties. In order to allow Mr. Scott and Mr. Kyle the time to prepare their belongings so that they are not the last ones on board, Spock takes over the controls, beaming each group of six down to the transporter pad located on the Academy’s campus. Occasionally, an individual crewmember will hand him specialized coordinates for a transport elsewhere along the western portion of the continent, where the transporter can still reach from Spacedock’s geosynchronous orbit, adding a small bit of variety to the otherwise repetitive task.  
  
Jim arrives in the transporter room five minutes after he agreed to meet Spock, suitcase in hand and doctor in tow. He sets his bag down next to Spock’s against the transporter console and asks, “Did you draw the short straw or something? I thought you were off-duty today.”  
  
“Indeed. However, Mr. Scott was quite successful in convincing me that my assistance was required here.”  
  
“I can see that,” McCoy drawls, watching Spock beam down a group of ensigns from navigation. “Any idea when Scotty’s taking back the reins?”  
  
“He assured me that he or Mr. Kyle will relieve me by the end of shift,” Spock replies. “Our departure will not be delayed, Captain.”  
  
“Good to hear,” Jim answers, grinning. Apparently Spock’s enthusiasm for shore leave in the past day has been catching; after nearly a week of stressing over the banalities of docking procedures, Jim seems to finally be as excited for this shore leave as he has for the others they’ve spent on other worlds.  
  
“Are you looking forward to the holiday, Doctor?” Spock inquires politely. Though Vulcans do not have any winter holidays of comparable importance to those practiced on Earth, he expects that someone as steeped in cultural traditions as McCoy would be equally enamored of whatever he celebrates.  
  
McCoy shrugs. “Looks like it’ll be alright,” he says noncommittally. “So Spock, have you ever been in the snow? Seems to me like you’d have to wear so many layers you wouldn’t be able to move.”  
  
“I have not experienced snow before, but I believe I have packed sufficient clothing for the weather. Additionally, there is always the option of remaining inside the house if I am too unsuited to the temperature.”  
  
“Besides, you’re not one to talk. It’s not like you’ve been around much snow, Bones,” Jim interjects. “You wouldn’t even go outside that one time.”  
  
“That’s because there was a goddamn blizzard outside!” McCoy protests, seemingly articulating the motion of the wind gusts with his hands. Spock, who is not knowledgeable enough about Georgian meteorology but presumed from the doctor’s intolerance for cold that he has never been in snow, experiences a moment of confusion. “ _Nobody_ goes outside when there’s a blizzard!”  
  
“Iowans do,” Jim says cheekily, dodging the punch McCoy aims at his arm. In response to Spock’s curious look, he elaborates, “Bones visited Riverside with me second year at the Academy, when my mom guilt-tripped me into coming home while she had leave. Coldest New Year’s Eve in the past few decades or so.”  
  
Spock is only mildly surprised that Jim brought McCoy home with him during their time at the Academy, though that comes more from Jim’s staunch avoidance of most conversations about his time spent in Iowa. While he provides explanations when asked, he never speaks of it of his own volition, and certainly never demonstrates any inclination to return. Even when planning for this holiday season, Jim never even voiced Iowa as an option, preferring to spend time in San Francisco or at his grandparents’ house if Spock didn’t want to travel to the Vulcan colony.  
  
“Yeah, well, you can go outside all you want, Jim. I guess me and Spock’ll be stuck inside for most part.”  
  
Spock tilts his head quizzically, unsure of McCoy’s meaning. “I am unaware of any cold fronts across the southeastern region of the continent,” he says, sending another group down.  
  
Jim looks anxiously at Spock and then to McCoy, who is staring flatly at the captain. “There’s been a bit of a snag in his plans, Spock. Turns out he can’t go to Georgia, so it’s okay if he comes to Montana with us, isn’t it?”  
  
The casual attitude with which Jim accepts the intrusion on their holiday is absolutely unbelievable, except – McCoy is fully glaring at Jim now, while Jim continues to look almost embarrassed. It seems that Jim was previously made aware of McCoy’s difficulty but neglected to mention the change of plans to Spock. Surely McCoy would know better than to act as a prolonged ‘third wheel,’ which he takes great pains to moan about whenever he spends time with only Jim and Spock. While Spock does enjoy the doctor’s company when he is not busy needling him, he cannot help a spike of disappointment.  
  
As with all previous instances where humans have assumed him to be unfeeling, Spock defaults to simple diplomacy. “Of course, doctor, you are welcome to share the house if you are unable to find a suitable replacement for your previous plans.” He does not go so far as to suggest that his presence will be welcome, however.  
  
Lieutenant Kyle bustles in the door just as McCoy opens his mouth, looking ready to tell Jim off. Interesting. Perhaps it was not the doctor’s idea?  
  
“Lieutenant, please supervise transport on the remaining groups until Mr. Scott relieves you of duty,” Spock says stiffly, cutting off the argument. He has no desire to linger on a foregone conclusion. “I am going to wait for transport and can no longer assist.”  
  
“Very well, sir. No need for you to wait when you’ve been working all this time, either. Do you have an alternate set of coordinates?”  
  
“Negative. Please transport us to the Academy,” Spock says, picking up his suitcase and taking a place on the transporter pad. Next to him, McCoy steps onto another pad, while Jim takes one on the other side so that Spock is firmly between him and McCoy.  
  
“Enjoy your leave, sirs,” Kyle wishes them cheerfully, oblivious of the discontent emanating between the three men.  
  
“Energize,” Spock says shortly, and they disappear.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The shuttle ride from San Francisco to the outskirts of Billings is, thankfully, brief as well as exceedingly awkward. Not that McCoy expected anything else, what with Jim’s boneheaded decision to spring the news of his company on Spock beyond what McCoy would consider the last minute, but he’s also preoccupied enough with pretending he’s on solid ground to suffer from the full effect of a confused and bitchy Vulcan. He’s not sure if there’s any silver lining to be found in this situation whatsoever.  
  
They touch down only half an hour after departure, gliding into the tiny shuttleyard cramped into a previously abandoned lot near the city center. McCoy hauls his body out of his seat as soon as the craft has fully stopped and heads swiftly towards the exit, both to get out of the godforsaken death trap and escape the uncomfortable silence Jim tried to break only twice during the flight with stilted attempts at conversation. Both times got him no response save for vaguely threatening grumbles from McCoy and a pointed glare from Spock that spoke of serious discussions being required in the future.  
  
The ride in the rental car passes in similar fashion; McCoy watches from the backseat as Jim navigates out of the city and into the farmland surrounding it miles out, eyes glued to the inclining and declining road as Spock sits ramrod-straight in his seat, also keeping his eyes fixed forward. It’s almost comical, since Jim has brought the situation on himself by inviting along a third wheel for what Spock probably expected to be whatever Vulcans did in place of romantic getaways. He’s always around on the ship, sure, hanging outside their small bubble to infringe on their free time when he thinks they won’t mind some company, but even someone raised outside human culture should know that humans take rituals like holidays seriously enough to share them with loved ones only. While McCoy counts Jim as family and knows the kid does the same, Spock’s expectation that they would spend this time off alone is justifiable.  
  
The drive at least has scenery McCoy can actually look at despite the darkening sky, and even though he’s never been one for mountains and winter-stripped forests, the increasing sense of isolation reinforces the feeling of distance from his duties and the ship. It leaves him with a much more agreeable attitude about this whole shore leave, even with Jocelyn’s last-minute decision and Jim’s latest dumbshit plan to save his decidedly- _not_ -failing relationship, and sustains him until the car clatters to a stop a few hours after sunset, in front of a midsized old-fashioned farmhouse complete with fenced-in chickens and a barn out back.  
  
“We’re here,” Jim announces cheerfully, getting out of the driver’s seat in record time. McCoy takes longer in climbing from the back and winds up waiting behind Spock in the line for grabbing their luggage from the trunk.  
  
When Jim heads off to unlock the front door for them, McCoy leans in over Spock’s shoulder and says, “Sorry about being here with you two, but Jim was convinced you wouldn’t mind company anyway. I couldn’t convince him otherwise.”  
  
“I am aware that accompanying us was not your first choice of vacation plans, Doctor,” Spock replies smoothly, looking less annoyed now that Jim has proceeded into the house. “It does seem unfortunate that your original plans were cancelled, and I do not begrudge you the opportunity to spend a popular human holiday with friends. I hope you are aware that I do not object to your presence in itself.”  
  
“You just wanted to spend some time with Jim. I get that,” McCoy finishes with an understanding nod. “Have a talk with Jim about it, would you? And you might as well call me by my first name while we’re here, since you don’t have to keep up that robot image in front of the impressionable little ensigns.”  
  
The last remnants of the vaguely-annoyed expression drop off of Spock’s face, and he returns the nod. “Very well, Leonard.”  
  
With Spock on board about McCoy’s lack of blame and Jim’s total idiocy, McCoy follows Spock up the stairs to the front door feeling better about the situation. Jim and Spock still have their issues to sort out, but McCoy feels like he can spend his vacation relaxing now that he’s sorted out with the two of them.  
  
Jim glances up from where he’s trying to start the fireplace as they walk in the door and offers a tentative smile. “It’s still a bit chilly, but there are some blankets on the couch if either of you want to warm up,” he says. “Gram and Granddad have been gone for a few days, so they set the climate controls low.”  
  
“My coat will suffice,” Spock says disinterestedly, sweeping into what McCoy assumes is the guest bedroom Jim mentioned. Funny how he knows the floor plan of the place despite never visiting in his life, but it’s a trick he’s pulled before. Maybe it’s a Vulcan thing, for all McCoy knows.  
  
Jim makes miserable eyes in the direction of the bedroom for just long enough that McCoy decides to momentarily take pity on him, despite the fact that he created the whole mess. “Come on, you got a match?” McCoy asks, dumping his bag near the couch joining Jim at the hearth. He grabs some smaller sticks from the pile, stacking them on top of the larger logs Jim’s already arranged. When Jim lights a match and dumps it onto the pile, the sticks light, so McCoy considers the job well enough done and goes to sit on the couch.  
  
“Want to go check out the barn before dinner, Bones?” Jim asks as he finishes at the fire and straightens up, brushing his hands together to get rid of the wood debris clinging to his palms. “I haven’t been here in years, but apparently they still have a few horses here.”  
  
“Jim. Stop avoiding the issue here.” Reluctantly, Jim sits down next to McCoy and at least looks like he’s paying attention. “Say you get married. You’re ready to spend a long while relaxing with your new spouse, and when you get to the honeymoon cottage, the best man is there. No way you’re getting any alone time, and fucking becomes a damn awkward production.”  
  
“You’re saying you’re my best man, Bones?”  
  
“ _Shut up_. I’m saying that Spock was blindsided by the person he’s been looking forward to spending his time with, and now he’s upset. It’s understandable. It’s normal. You just need to go apologize for not asking about me being here before now, and then ask him if he’s okay with it now. Got it?”  
  
Jim looks positively baffled. “But you’re already here.”  
  
“Not the point. You’d better talk to him soon, or you might be sleeping on the couch tonight. Now, where’s that guest room?”  
  
* * * * *  
  
The larger of the two spare bedrooms carries a comfortable sense of being lived in despite being intended for guests – there are small potted plants clustered against the window of the attached bathroom and pictures of family on the bedside table, including some featuring Jim as a young child and lanky teenager. Spock unpacks his suitcase and investigates the contents of both rooms briefly, adjusting the climate controls and noting the unexpected presence of a computer terminal, before entering the bathroom to prepare for sleep. It’s earlier than when he usually retires, but after the stress of combing through all the minutiae necessary for docking, he finds he is ready to rest.  
  
Unfortunately, even lying on the eminently comfortable bed that is even larger than he is accustomed to and with the temperature set so that he only has to wear thermal socks to remain warm beneath the blankets, sleep eludes him. After precisely thirty-seven minutes, Spock concludes he must either meditate to clear his mind thoroughly or procure some work to occupy him until he is again tired enough to attempt sleeping. Despite the disappointment of the day, he is loath to give up on his resolution to avoid work if possible, so he retrieves his meditation mat from the shelf in the closet and unrolls it in one corner of the room. Retreating into the familiarity of the mind rules restores a measure of control over his mind, calming the swirl of uncertainty that previously prevented him from resting. Within twenty minutes, Spock withdraws from his mind and straightens his back slightly.  
  
“Spock?” Jim asks quietly, clearly trying not to disturb him with his presence.  
  
“Yes, Jim,” Spock replies simply as he stands. He rolls up the mat and stows it in the closet again, taking his time to allow Jim to continue if he wishes.  
  
The silence lasts for another few moments, and then Jim says, “I should’ve told you earlier, I know. Hell, I should have _asked_ you in the first place.”  
  
“Yes, you should have. Will you tell me why you did not?”  
  
Jim leans more of his weight against the door frame, face turned slightly away from Spock as he struggles for words. Spock knows already that he won’t be able to answer – not tonight, at least – and wearily sits on the bed, folding his legs underneath the carefully-tucked comforter. After so much anticipation on both their parts, such a letdown at the start of leave coupled with the calm meditation has afforded him has Spock tired enough to attempt to sleep after Jim has finished.  
  
“I wanted to prevent problems between us, and I know I just caused them instead,” Jim finally says. “And I’m _so_ sorry for that, Spock, and I swear I’ll make it up to you. We can still have a good leave, right?”  
  
Spock believes him. He doesn’t want to, but he does. Knowing Jim, there’s likely a hidden and overcomplicated reasoning for all of his actions regarding leave preparations. Perhaps the three of them can share a pleasant leave, but not until Jim has managed to overcome some of his clear misgivings about spending leave without a chaperone.  
  
Spock makes a noncommittal noise in response to Jim’s question, uncertain how to reply without revealing some of the disappointment he is currently attempting to control. Jim’s shoulders slump and he shuffles around in the doorway for a moment, then finally nods in understanding. “I’ll let you get some sleep. See you in the morning.”  
  
Even though Spock needs the space, he illogically wishes Jim had come in regardless. He shakes off the thought and goes to sleep alone.  
  
* * * * *  
  
With the lack of sleep from docking prep lately, Jim manages to get a solid night’s rest even with guilt lingering from their arrival. When he wakes, he stumbles into the kitchen and snags a cup of coffee and a seat next to Spock at the kitchen counter before he remembers why Spock is staring determinedly at his PADD.  
  
“Morning,” he offers, trying for some semblance of normalcy.  
  
“Yes, it is.”  
  
“Working on something?”  
  
Spock taps the screen once. “Reading the news. I am limiting my involvement in ongoing experiments for the duration of leave.”  
  
In the next few minutes of strained silence, Jim gulps down the remainder of his coffee and grabs another mug, shoving it in the small replicator unit. Less than a minute later, the cup of tea is finished, and Jim slides it across the counter to Spock.  
  
“I know it’s not Vulcan tea, but it’s all they have programmed,” Jim says apologetically. “Do you want some fruit?”  
  
“I am not hungry.”  
  
“How about some oatmeal? I saw some in the pantry, and it might help warm you up. I know the house can’t get warm enough to keep you comfortable.”  
  
“The tea will be sufficient in that regard.”  
  
Jim deflates even more after each rejection, leaning heavily against the countertop. “Anything I can do to help?” he asks in a final attempt at making up for being such a terrible boyfriend. On the ship he can do a good job at showing he cares, but without the support of distractions from work, he can’t seem to manage it. Obviously, considering this whole debacle.  
  
Spock’s finger hesitates over the screen he’s reading from. “Perhaps some honey for the tea,” he answers finally.  
  
“Honey! Got it, okay.” Relieved, Jim turns to search through the cabinets and finds a jar labeled with some local beekeeper’s name. “Looks like this is berry flavored – is that okay?”  
  
Spock nods and even sets the PADD aside as he accepts the honey, lifting Jim’s mood. As shitty as he feels for the whole mess, having Spock not talking to him for just a day has made him feel even worse, and even a fraction of normal interaction is enough to leave him hopeful.  
  
Trying his luck, Jim walks around the counter and takes the seat next to Spock, turning the chair to face him. “Do you have anything in particular you want to do today?” he asks first.  
  
Spock lifts an eyebrow in response. “As the point of sharing leave was to spend time together, I do not believe your suggestion will be unwelcome.”  
  
There’s a bit of a warning in the words, and deserved rebuke too, but it’s encouraging enough to keep Jim talking. “There are some awesome natural areas around here – it’s too cold to stay outside for long, but we could drive there if you want. My grandparents took me and Sam hiking along the river whenever we visited during the summer, so it’s not too far a trip.”  
  
Spock doesn’t hesitate for more than a few seconds before answering. “Considering I have never visited this region, that would be acceptable. I have read that the natural features in the surrounding area are worth a visit.”  
  
“Great,” Jim says, a little breathless with success. God, this feels so much better than the pained anticipation prior to leave and the stilted awkwardness of the last day. He reaches out and squeezes Spock’s knee, then leans in and steals a quick kiss while he can. “You’ll love it; there’s still some animals who stick around during winter. When do you want to head down there?”  
  
“I would prefer to leave after discussing your reluctance to spend time together without an intermediary,” Spock says calmly. Even so, the words send a spike of anxiety through Jim, which he covers by walking away to get a second cup of coffee. “I am – concerned, Jim. I do not know what you expected to occur that would require another guest, but I can assure you it could not cause as much difficulty as this has.”  
  
Jim just – he can’t have this conversation. He knows it’ll sound ridiculous out loud, especially to someone who applies logic as often as possible. Instead he sets the mug down empty on the counter and heads for the door, where he shoves his feet into his boots and shrugs on his jacket. “Maybe later,” he says, avoiding looking in the direction of the kitchen. “Just remembered I should take care of the barn work, now that we’re here and the neighbor doesn’t have to come over and do it. I’ll be back in when it’s done, okay?”  
  
The look on Spock’s face as Jim shuts the front door behind him is almost enough to make him turn back, but he honestly does need time to figure out how to say this without giving Spock more details about why he’s so screwed up. Both of them have had similarly terrible experiences in very different ways, and they don’t always need to share because neither of them love talking about that, but it looks like he needs to share some of this. Jim just needs a while alone with himself to figure out what to say and how to say it without making Spock feel like he’s at fault. He knows it’ll come to a head eventually because they’ve both accepted that their relationship is permanent, so he’ll feel better if he addresses the issue on his own terms.  
  
He just wishes he was better able to keep Spock satisfied until that happens.  
  
* * * * *  
  
In search of his morning coffee, McCoy walks into the spacious kitchen, takes one look at the way Spock curls miserably against the counter, and snorts. “Let me guess. Jim slept on the couch?”  
  
“Evidently he prefers the discomfort to explaining his sudden disinclination towards privacy,” Spock explains, trying to sound disinterested. McCoy lets him pretend he succeeded and takes a seat on the stool next to him.  
  
“The kid’s a bit stupid about his feelings. I’m not saying you should give him a break because of that, but you know it’s not because you’ve done anything wrong or he’s any less invested, right?” When Spock reluctantly nods, McCoy returns it decisively. “Good. Because I’ve never seen him this serious about anyone, no matter how much it seems like he doesn’t want to be on this trip. You’d think you’d be able to understand – can’t imagine Vulcans being demonstrative at all.”  
  
“None of whom I am aware,” Spock admits, stirring honey into his tea. “However, Jim is not a Vulcan, and as such I have become…accustomed to non-traditional displays of affection from him. He is not as forthright as most humans, but he manages nonetheless.”  
  
“Well, he doesn’t want you to get bored for the month of leave, which he somehow thinks will happen if you two are alone for any length of time. Me? I think you two wouldn’t spend much time outside of the bedroom and boredom wouldn’t even be a question, and I’ve got no idea why he didn’t think of that either. Definitely isn’t traditional, and it isn’t quite affection, but he doesn’t want to mess this up. Like I said, he’s serious.”  
  
Spock blinks a few times as he absorbs and processes the uncharacteristically long speech from McCoy, who has had damn near enough filling in for Jim’s older brother. “I believe I understand his viewpoint. Thank you, Leonard.”  
  
“I won’t say _any time_ because I’m not doing it again, but go talk to him, would you? Let him know he’s a crazy son of a bitch for thinking that spending time together is a bad thing. Do it soon, too, before I lose it from the tension between you two.”  
  
“Very well.” Spock has noticeably perked up since McCoy’s entrance to the kitchen. Regaining his usual Vulcan posture and meticulous manners looks better on him than McCoy would’ve ever thought. “I will approach him once he returns indoors. I do not believe I could comfortably withstand the outside temperature for the probable duration of this conversation.”  
  
“He’s outside?” McCoy stands half up out of his stool and looks towards the barn, where a small dark figure is moving against the background of falling white. “Guess someone’s gotta feed the animals. I’ll see if I can’t get him to come inside.”  
  
“That is not necess –”  
  
“Yeah, it is, because otherwise neither of you are ever gonna get around to talking about it properly. I have to deal with the both of you, so let me help you sort this out and then I’ll leave you two alone; sound good?”  
  
Spock nods. “That is agreeable,” he says, taking a delicate sip of tea. “Would you also ask him to return indoors for lunch? I believe he skipped breakfast to avoid potential blame, and I do not want him to work long without a meal.”  
  
And the kid doesn’t realize Spock’s world damn near revolves around him. “Alright, then.” McCoy stands and peers out the window, seeing that Jim has moved out of sight, probably into the barn. “Any idea how long it’s supposed to snow for?”  
  
“Approximately three more hours, according to the weather station.” A longer drink, and Spock finishes off his tea, standing smoothly to discard the mug in the sink. After rinsing out the inside, he stands by the window for a moment to look outdoors. He seems more brooding than contemplative, and McCoy slips on his coat and gloves with more haste. He’s not sure when his new definition of family expanded to include Spock as well as Jim, but he suspects it started around the time Jim came to McCoy in a panic needing to make sure that being in a long-term relationship with a non-telepath wouldn’t be harmful for a Vulcan. This, truthfully, had sent McCoy running for his halfheartedly hidden liquor stash, because Jim didn’t have the common decency to ask him that after sharing a few drinks, but he resigned himself at about that moment to adopting the hobgoblin into their tiny makeshift family nonetheless.  
  
McCoy secures his boots firmly around his calves to protect his legs from the high snowdrifts and stomps clumsily over to the door. “Just peachy,” he grumbles. “Guess I’ll get to see how drafty that barn is, then. No idea how long this’ll take, so I’ll be back when I’m back.”  
  
He hears a quiet “naturally,” as he walks out the door and braces his body against the slanting wind. It’s driving the snow right into his face, of _course_ , and bears too much of a resemblance to that one Iowan blizzard for comfort. At least he can make Jim lead the way back to the house on the return trip, because if the barn didn’t present such an obvious target as his destination, he’d have a hard time moving in the right direction.  
  
When he reaches the half-propped barn door, he sees that Jim has indeed moved inside and is in the process of distributing bedding among the three stalls in the back corner. While Jim might not mind the drafts coming in from outside, McCoy certainly does, so he slams the door shut with some effort before heading towards the back, shaking clumps of snow off his boots as he goes.  
  
The racket draws Jim’s attention, and his head pokes over a stall door a moment later. “Bones?” he asks, confusion showing clearly on his face.  
  
McCoy opens by saying, “I hope you’re happy about hiding from your boyfriend in the barn so that I have to go out in this weather to talk to you.” When Jim looks properly embarrassed, he continues, “Come in for lunch, won’t you? I know you’re trying to avoid Spock, but we’d both like to see you once in a while before leave’s over.”  
  
“I’m not gonna – I just –”  
  
“I know, kid,” McCoy says, softening the ire in his voice. “And I know you like to pretend that feelings are on your allergy list, but you two really need to talk sometime when I’m not in the room.”  
  
Jim’s head disappears back into the stall before he opens the door and edges through the gap, body blocking the horse within from shoving its way out. “I know we do,” he says. “And I need to stop being shitty to him. You ever been around horses before?”  
  
“Years ago, but sure. What do you need me to do?”  
  
“Top off the water buckets from that, and then fill the empty buckets in each stall with the feed from that bag,” Jim directs, pointing out the tap protruding from the wall as he stuffs his hands back into gloves. “Thanks, Bones.”  
  
“Better than dealing with both of you right now,” McCoy grumbles. “Seeing you two not talking is just unnatural, the way you’re usually attached at the hip.”  
  
There’s a poorly-suppressed grin breaking loose on the kid’s face, and it doesn’t take too much thought to figure out what it’s about, so McCoy pulls a disgusted face and amends, “Alright, the hip _and other places_ , I get it, you braggart. Now get inside.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
Inside, Spock has migrated to the living room and is settled among blankets on the sofa across from the hearth. The temperature settings are adequate for his physiology, but he finds that Jim’s concern about additional heat sources upon their arrival was well-founded.  
  
Investigating natural areas of interest within an hour of travel by hovercar produces a wide range of options, and Spock begins making himself familiar with some of the varied species native to the region. The vast differences from species native to Vulcan keep his interest occupied until a draft makes its way into the room, making it necessary for Spock to readjust the blankets around his body to compensate. As he’s meticulously arranging the coverings, Jim enters the room, eyes bright in his cold-flushed face. He leans over the back of the sofa and rests his head on Spock’s shoulder, peering down at the PADD screen showing the biodiversity profile for central Montana.  
  
“Anything in particular catch your interest?” Jim asks.  
  
“Perhaps,” Spock says absently, setting the PADD aside and taking care not to jostle the weight of Jim’s head on his shoulder. He admits to finding some measure of comfort in the familiar gesture among the recent uncertainty between them. “Have you finished the tasks you mentioned?”  
  
“Not exactly. Can we talk? Preferably somewhere else so we’re not interrupted. I’m done running out on you, Spock,” Jim says, turning to press a small kiss to the side of Spock’s neck.  
  
Choosing to take the sign of maturity as it’s meant, Spock refrains from any comments regarding Jim’s decision to _finally_ act as an adult and merely stands, gently dislodging Jim from his shoulder and following him into the bedroom. Once Jim shuts the door, he sits cross-legged on one side of the bed, vibrating with pent-up energy as he waits for Spock to mirror his position opposite him.  
  
Jim takes an audible breath and begins talking in a rush. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you I asked Bones along before we left. I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I did it anyway, and you didn’t deserve that.”  
  
Spock suspected Jim actively asked McCoy to join them, but hearing the confirmation stings – the impact, at least, is minimized by the return of slight normalcy this morning. “In that case, why did you do it?” he asks. He is still entirely unaware of any possible motivations Jim might have had at the time, beyond looking to deficiencies in his ability to behave in a manner satisfying enough for successful intimacy with a human. Remembering Jim’s words in the first months of their relationship steers him away from this line of thought and directs him to return to his previous place in bed, facing Jim and waiting for a response.  
  
Jim shuffles forwards, moving unconsciously in Spock’s direction, and picks at a piece of fuzz on the flannel topsheet. “It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you. Not at all. When we first got news that we’d be on Earth for such a long shore leave, I was _really_ looking forward to it, but then I thought you’d get bored, you know?”  
  
“No, I do not,” Spock replies evenly, cocking his head to the side. Jim has made similar assumptions regarding his interest or disinterest in various proceedings in the past, and while he has the uncanny ability to read Spock’s carefully hidden thoughts or emotions from even the barest glance in most cases, he has a remarkably poor record of judging Spock’s investment in activities they can participate in together. “You are aware that spending an extended period of time with you in this manner was my first choice for this shore leave, correct?”  
  
A small crease appears in Jim’s forehead as he considers this. “No it wasn’t,” he insists stubbornly. “You wanted to supervise some experiments onboard, remember? Only reason you gave in and came with me was because they’re upgrading some of the equipment and the labs are inaccessible.”  
  
Jim’s response is disappointing and even insulting – Spock expected that he would know by now that while his dedication to work and discovery is a vital part of his personality, it is not of paramount importance. He never had any friends during his childhood, so incorporating Jim into his life has required some adaptation and cooperation. With Jim making similar adjustments, it has gone rather smoothly for the most part, considering their mutually limited ability to communicate on such issues.  
  
“Jim,” Spock says gravely, setting one hand on Jim’s knee to broadcast the complete sincerity behind his words. “The holiday is an important period of time for humans to share with those they consider family. Though I am Vulcan, I understand this. Your invitation to spend time alone with you makes this leave important to me as well, and I greatly anticipated the chance to spend this time with you.”  
  
“Holidays aren’t logical,” Jim mutters stubbornly, still picking at the flannel.  
  
“My relationship with you is not logical,” Spock replies, lifting an eyebrow. “Am I any less dedicated to you for it?”  
  
Finally, a touch of embarrassment appears on Jim’s face, and Spock believes he is beginning to understand. He’s aware of Jim’s past difficulties with family, and that they rarely manifest in the controlled environment of the ship, but perhaps Spock can make further progress in convincing Jim how important he is. Slipping Jim reading material on the importance of familial bonds to Vulcans may be an adequate beginning step, even if Spock desires a different kind of bond with Jim in the future.  
  
When Jim speaks again, some of the discomfort he’s worn around himself since arriving has disappeared. “How about this, then – we’ll spend Christmas with Bones, because I don’t think either of us wants him to be alone on a holiday. Family’s everything, right? After that, we can take off to a warmer part of the planet. Different plans than we expected, but you’ll probably like the heat better anyway.” He looks at Spock expectantly, searching for confirmation that he hasn’t ruined their leave.  
  
Spock maintained too rigorous an academic schedule during his time attending and teaching at the Academy, and has not visited many of the most noteworthy Terran natural and manmade sites. Nodding once, Spock catches Jim in their first real embrace since they left the ship, pleased with the compromise.  
  
He believes he can understand the appeal of certain human holidays, with their focus on cherishing those most dear. That is, after all, a focus Vulcans share, and Spock now has much that is very dear to him.


End file.
